


baby, take me higher

by mercutioes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: First Time, M/M, Makeup, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character, just a real tender one folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22424887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutioes/pseuds/mercutioes
Summary: "I will have to tell Leonie," Lorenz says, slowly and with the elaborate diction of the moderately drunk, "that she is evil.""That doesn't seem fair," Claude slurs back, not caring about his own speech.  "What'd she do?""Her," and here he pauses to hide a small burp behind elegant fingers, "her concoction has infected me with terrible thoughts."Claude rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling.  "Such as?"Lorenz draws himself up, gives Claude a serious look.  "Your eyelashes are unfairly long for a man who doesn't wear a, a speck of makeup."
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 216
Collections: Claurenz Week: Winter 2020





	baby, take me higher

**Author's Note:**

> written for claurenz week day 8: free day! honestly this was sparked by looking at [this meme](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/ELn1FWTWsAAxL7N.jpg) and going, what if claurenz...?
> 
> quick warning - claude and lorenz have been drinking, though they are both fully able to consent and they sober up over the course of the fic. however, if sex under any kind of influence makes you uncomfy, this one might not be for you!
> 
> [title from here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g4ELX7LyXDw)

For his birthday, Claude had expected a practical gift from Leonie - perhaps a new bowstring or fletching, a glove, bow wax. A bottle of her own personal, homebrewed moonshine was unexpected but _very_ welcome.

Hilda had retired, consumed by giggles, half an hour ago, leaving Claude sprawled on Lorenz's bed, the room's owner slumped in his desk chair. The bottle sits on the desk, three-quarters empty, its contents perfectly clear and tempting. Lorenz eyes it sidelong.

"I will have to tell Leonie," he says, slowly and with the elaborate diction of the moderately drunk, "that she is _evil_."

"That doesn't seem fair," Claude slurs back, not caring about his own speech. "What'd she do?"

"Her," and here he pauses to hide a small burp behind elegant fingers, "her concoction has infected me with terrible thoughts."

Claude rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "Such as?"

Lorenz draws himself up, gives Claude a serious look. "Your eyelashes are unfairly long for a man who doesn't wear a, a _speck_ of makeup."

Claude laughs. "You know, I tried a few times. Didn't suit me."

"Impossible."

"Really! It made me look like a bad opera hopeful."

Lorenz stands with all the wobbly dignity of a newborn stork, grabs a small satchel off his vanity, and clambers onto the bed.

"What're you—" Claude cuts himself off as Lorenz straddles his hips, settling heavy and warm atop him. His hands go to his thin hips on instinct, steadying him.

"Proving my point," Lorenz replies primly, blustering even with his flushed cheeks as he removes brushes and tubes and little jars from the bag. "Mm… is gold too obvious?"

"Uh."

"Of course it is," he continues as if Claude hadn't spoken, as if he isn't _sitting on him right now._ "Maybe an accent, but the base should be subtle." He tuts. "Close your eyes."

Claude closes his eyes, which only makes the pressure and heat on his hips feel more insistent. A soft brush makes its way across his right eyelid, then his left, working from the inner corner out. There's a pause ever so often where Lorenz must be gathering more pigment from one of the tiny jars, but Claude doesn't dare break the spell by opening his eyes.

He can't contain a small huff of surprise when the brush is replaced by Lorenz's soft fingertip brushing something cool and paste-like just at the outer corner of his eyes.

"Oh, the gold _was_ a good choice," Lorenz murmurs, shifting his weight slightly as he leans back which makes Claude feel as if he's losing his mind. His eyes flutter open on instinct and, for once, he doesn't have a single witty thing to say when presented with Lorenz's flushed face, twisted up in a tiny triumphant smirk. The smirk disappears immediately — "eyes _closed,_ Claude. I haven't lined them yet."

"Sorry, boss." Despite himself, the reprimand sends an additional wave of heat through him, followed by a secondary wave of prickling guilt — he's definitely not supposed to be turned on by this, but the ache between his legs says otherwise.

A different brush this time, sharply angled and dipped in some kind of thick, sticky liquid pigment. Lorenz swipes a thin line of it on each eye with a few expert strokes.

"Keep them closed," Lorenz murmurs, "just a bit more…"

A thick brush descends, dusting what feels like a light powder onto his cheeks (which he hopes isn't rouge, as he's sure Lorenz doesn't have the right color for his complexion) and then—

Then Lorenz's finger swipes over his parted lips, first the top and then the bottom, spreading something not quite as thick as lipstick — perhaps the consistency of the waxy protective balm Claude uses to fend off the windburn that comes with riding a wyvern. His touch is delicate, slow, warm. Claude has the sudden urge to dip forward, take his finger into his mouth, fuck the consequences.

Instead, he keeps his eyes closed and doesn't breathe and ignores the throbbing between his legs.

"Alright," Lorenz says quietly, and Claude can't be imagining the rasp in his voice, he _can't._ "Here, look."

When Claude opens his eyes, Lorenz has a hand mirror held up for him. The breath leaves him in an audible rush. He looks… _well._

The natural curve of his eyes has been accentuated, shadow radiating outward like smoke towards his browbone, the corners sparkling with burnished gold. The powder on his cheeks seems to have been simply a shimmer, making his cheekbones look higher and sharper — a tactic he recognizes from the makeup Lorenz himself uses daily. His lips haven't been altered beyond a gloss, shining in the low lamplight.

He'd been afraid he'd look garish or feminine or unrecognizable but he should know better by now than to underestimate Lorenz when he puts his mind to something.

"Okay," Claude says slowly, resisting the urge to lick his lips, "point to you, I guess."

“I told you,” Lorenz replies, setting the mirror aside. “I always thought —” He stops himself, eyes widening, mouth pressed into a fine line. Claude’s neck prickles with heat.

“You thought about this?” he asks, trying for teasing but too tipsy to end up anywhere but hopeful.

“Yes.” Lorenz runs a thumb over his cheekbone. “You are so stunning, how could I not?”

Claude groans. “Gods, will you just _kiss_ me already?”

Mercifully, Lorenz does. There’s the tickle of hair brushing his neck and fingertips on his jaw and, eclipsing all else, warm lips moving against his, criminally soft and smooth. The gloss gets between them, the taste vaguely sweet, but it’s nothing to Lorenz’s shuddering breath on his chin, the pleased noise he makes when Claude presses forward.

“Saints,” Lorenz murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak, to look at Claude through half-lidded eyes.

“Nah, just me,” Claude grins. He laughs when Lorenz huffs an achingly familiar noise of irritation, but instead of a reprimand he gets teeth on his bottom lip and Lorenz’s grip on his jaw going forceful and _fuck,_ he wishes it could be like this every time Lorenz wants to shut him up. 

He squirms incessantly as they trade desperate, biting kisses, hands roaming and breath coming heavy, as Lorenz’s thigh slips between Claude’s legs. Their shirts end up on the floor, one after the other, tossed aside without any care. Claude wants to feel _all_ of him, unable to stay in one place long.

“Can’t you ever be _still?”_ Lorenz demands against his neck, groping his chest with a lack of delicacy that surprises and delights Claude to no end. “I’ve waited a very long time to do this.” Claude groans, entirely unselfconscious.

“You and me both,” Claude retorts breathlessly, taking a handful of silky hair and tugging to get Lorenz to keep biting at his throat, there, _yes._ “Gods, I want to suck you off.”

The way Lorenz shudders under his hands is enough to send an answering pulse of heat between his legs, but to Claude’s dismay he doesn’t immediately jump up to strip his pants off. Instead, in true form, he argues:

“You’ll ruin your makeup.”

Claude laughs. “I don’t care.” He manages to wriggle enough to get his teeth on the shell of Lorenz’s ear. “Maybe I wanna get messy.”

He earns the briefest whine before Lorenz bites down on it, pressing Claude’s shoulders into the mattress and pinning him with his weight and his gaze.

“I worked very hard on that, Claude von Riegan,” he declares, imperious despite his flushed cheeks. “I won’t have you ruining it so soon.”

Claude makes eyes at him, hoping the makeup increases their effectiveness. “Please?”

Lorenz considers, running a thumb over Claude’s lips. The scrutiny makes Claude want to squirm even more, the urge building up in his gut, but he doesn’t dare move. It’s unfairly hot.

“How about this,” Lorenz finally acquiesces, sliding down Claude’s body until he’s resting his gorgeous, pointy chin on Claude’s stomach. “If you manage not to smudge it, I’ll let you have whatever you want.”

Claude's breath leaves him in a rush. "That's a dangerous bargain, sweetheart." He reaches down, cards his fingers through Lorenz's waterfall hair. "I want a lot of things."

Lorenz laughs weakly, lips pressed to Claude's hip. "I'm sure your list could not rival mine," he says, "starting with this."

His mouth is soft on the thin skin of Claude's inner thigh, so close to his throbbing heat. Claude curls slightly around him. He forces himself to keep the hand in Lorenz's hair loose, not sure yet how much pulling is allowed, as much as he wants to yank him in.

“Ah, fuck!” It’s a lost cause — his fingers clench in Lorenz’s hair as his tongue runs up his slit, parting his folds, up to wrap around his cock. He gets a humming groan in return, all signs pointing to ‘keep pulling,’ so Claude does, grip tight and desperate. It’s been far too long since anyone’s done this — since anyone’s touched him, really. He’d forgotten how _overwhelming_ it is, to be pinned down and forced to take pleasure at the hands, the mouth, of another.

“Gods, Lorenz, you feel...” he manages, one leg coming up to wrap around Lorenz’s narrow shoulders, the other planted firmly on the mattress. He alternates between tossing his head back and craning it up to watch, torn between the sensation and the desire to watch.

Lorenz makes these obscene noises while he works him over, satisfied little hums and groans in the back of his throat. He uses his thumbs to hold Claude apart, licking around and inside him where he’s slickest, dripping. Claude thinks maybe he expected fastidiousness, the usual concern over appearances, but he’s never been more delighted to be proven wrong.

When Lorenz pulls back for a moment, his lips and chin are shiny. He opens his mouth to speak — Claude experimentally tightens his hold on his hair, tugging back, and Lorenz shudders, eyes going unfocused until he seems to force himself back under control. Claude’s never been more turned-on in his life.

“Can I,” Lorenz asks, usually-melodic voice low and rough and quiet — he licks his lips, “...inside you?”

“Yes, fuck, please,” Claude groans, head hitting the pillow when two of Lorenz’s long, long fingers slide into him, his lips closing around Claude’s cock, by now swollen and throbbing. He forces his head up to look, catching his eye just as Lorenz bobs his head, tongue dragging hot and languid against him. The nails of his other hand dig into Claude’s thigh, scratching down in red-hot lines, and that’s it, he’s gone in a wave of euphoria and clenching muscles, sparks dancing behind his eyelids as he comes.

Lorenz fucks him through it, fingers curling and sending additional shocks through him every time he thinks he’s done. His voice is hoarse from moaning, shuddering out a sigh as he pushes Lorenz’s face away.

“Shit, Lor," he manages with a shaky laugh, scrubbing his hand over his face before he remembers. "Aw, fuck." His hand comes away streaked with shimmering powder and bits of gold.

Lorenz _tsks_ , but he's smiling. "We'll just have to do this again, hm?"

A pang goes through Claude's chest at that, tentative and hopeful. He reaches out, tugging at Lorenz to come kiss him despite Lorenz's protests that he's absolutely covered in Claude's cum —

His lips are _so soft_. He wants to stay here forever, except that he can feel Lorenz's cock hard and insistent against his thigh.

"Can I help you with that?" Claude murmurs. "Y’know, now that I'm messy."

"I suppose I can't deny you any longer," Lorenz mock-sighs, as if he's granting Claude some grand favor. Claude laughs, pushing at his shoulder until their positions are reversed, Lorenz splayed back on the bed with Claude over him, slinking down to get at the front of his trousers.

"You know how many times I thought about this?" Claude asks, fumbling at the laces. Lorenz breathes a chuckle, combing long fingers through Claude's mess of hair.

"I can guess," he replies, groaning when Claude finally manages to free his cock. He's been so hard for so long now, Claude suspects it won't take much to get him off.

He wastes no time in taking the head into his mouth, savoring the salt-sweat of him, the musk and heavy heat on his tongue. It's been a long while since he's done this, but he's certainly spun fantasies about it in bed alone at night with his own fingers in his mouth, the closest he can get but no substitute for the real thing.

"Oh," Lorenz sighs, "Claude, darling, you're so —"

Claude pulls off with an obscene sound, grinning up at him. "So...?"

Lorenz makes a strangled noise. " _Infuriating_ , if you keep this up, you _brat_." He tightens his hold in Claude's hair, tugs him back in, and _fuck,_ that really does something for Claude, being pushed around like that. Always has, if he's honest, and he sneaks a hand between his legs to circle his oversensitive cock as he sucks Lorenz in earnest.

Praise falls easily from Lorenz's lips, spurring him on to take more and more into his mouth, his throat. He wants to make Lorenz feel good, it's all he wants, he'd do anything to hear those honeyed words surrounding him.

When Lorenz comes, it's with a shuddering cry, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other tight in Claude's hair. Claude swallows it all, desperate to have this for a reason he can't quite name, and Lorenz looks at him like he hung the stars. It makes him groan, still touching himself, working himself up.

“Come here, let me do that,” Lorenz demands softly, and Claude, panting, acquiesces. Lorenz’s fingers are cool and deft and bring him over the edge in mere moments, Claude’s face buried in the crook of Lorenz’s long neck.

They cling for a long, quiet minute, neither daring to be the first to let go, to pull back and face the other.

Of course, being who he is, Claude breaks the silence first.

“Why did that take us so long?” he asks, tone deliberately light, face still pressed to Lorenz’s throat. Lorenz makes a noise that’s half-hum, half-laughter, scratching through the short hairs at the base of Claude’s neck.

“Because we’re both obstinate fools,” he replies — ever the realist, this one. Claude says as much, sparking more laughter. Claude finds himself wanting to bottle that laugh, to open as a fine vintage when things are at their bleakest.

“I really did like the makeup,” Claude says, “since it’s honesty hour, apparently.”

“Truly? I thought you were humoring me.”

“I mean, I was at first.” Claude presses a kiss to a sharp collarbone. “But, frankly, I looked gorgeous. Like, _I’d_ do me.”

Lorenz shoves his shoulder lightly. “You’re incorrigible,” he mutters, but soothes the sting with a kiss to the crown of Claude’s head.

“And you’re stuck with me,” Claude replies cheerfully.

“I suppose I am.”

**Author's Note:**

> find my fe3h twitter @lanceofscrewin


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